Never Forgotten
by A Mad Man With A Box
Summary: "J.K Rowling. You should know just how brilliant you are." The Doctor goes to get his copy of Deathly Hallows signed.


...I don't know.

I was just thinking of - "It's all a bit Harry Potter." "Wait til you read book seven. I cried."

and of the Doctor going to Verity Newman in End of Time and getting the Journal of Impossible Things signed.

And...yeah...

* * *

That man had been standing there all day, she was sure of it.

Most of the time, she had her head down as she scrawled her signature yet again upon pages that contained unimaginable effort and time. But every time she looked up, she could see him in the corner of her eye. He was leaning back against a shelf of books on her left, calmly watching the disorderly line of people that stretched out of the bookshop and into the distance.

Hours passed, the morning ticked into the afternoon and the endless stream of people made sure she never got lunch. And he was standing there the whole time, watching as she scribbled the same sort of message over and over again. Once, she thought he grinned at the smile that adorned her own face as she realised the impact she'd had on these people.

The employees of the bookshop eventually shooed the line out when it was bordering on five o'clock, promising them that she'd be back tomorrow at nine. She stood up and stretched, rolling her shoulders back and massaging her hand. He came towards her then, a fully grown man with a copy of her last book clutched in one bony hand. One of the employees made towards him, but she shook her head at them, and they retreated.

"You've been standing there all day," she said, sitting back down in her chair.

He didn't reply, just laid the book on the table and slid it across towards her.

"J.K Rowling," he said quietly.

"Who's it for?" she asked, looking up at him.

"The Doctor," he answered softly.

She frowned and a question formed on her lips, but then died as he spoke.

"_Just_ the Doctor." He grinned a little, and she knew he must get that a lot.

"Well, Just-the-Doctor, anything particular you want me to write?" Normally, she wouldn't ask that, she'd just scrawl a little something, but she felt that she owed this man who'd stood there all day for her.

"J.K Rowling," he said again, not answering her question. "You should know, just how _brilliant_ you are. You should know how many kids aspire to be authors just because of you. How many lives you've changed over the years. And how great the story really is. Years from now, _decades_ from now, in fact, it'll still be one of the greatest stories of all time. Around the world, it will still be loved."

"How can you know that?" she asked, but he didn't answer again.

"People say," the Doctor went on, "that individuals don't last, but stories do. And it will last. You and I might be forgotten, but the story will last forever. Good stories always do. And it is good. One of the best stories there ever was."

"Thank you," she managed, touched at his words, it was so unlike the many times she was just told that it was 'amazing' or 'awesome'.

"Dumbledore's eyes," she said suddenly. "I never felt that I described them well enough. Because I had no one to base his eyes off. No one around me had eyes like Dumbledore would've," she had no idea why she was telling him this, but she smiled, looking up at him again, "but you do. If only I'd known you before I'd written it!" she said, laughing. "It's that mixture of old and young that I could never capture. How they could hold wisdom beyond their years. How sometimes they could be so warm and inviting, and at other times, so cold. And the way they sparkled with a curiosity mostly seen by children. I could never give them justice." She shook her head.

"You did," he said softly. "You did."

She smiled again, looking back down at what she'd written so far for him.

"Who's your favourite character?" she asked into the book as she wrote more.

"Dobby," he answered, surprising her. Everyone always said Harry, Dumbledore, or even Voldemort.

She was about to prompt him for reasons, but he launched into it before she could.

"Dobby's my favourite because he was so selfless. He did the best he could to help people at all times. He tried to keep Harry safe to the best of his ability. He was only one elf, alone amongst his kind, but he still tried. And he was so kind, and so giving, and so ready to help others without a question asked. I admire that. I aspire to be as half as great as Dobby."

"I'm sure you are," she answered quietly, though she had no idea.

She finished writing and closed the book gently, sliding it back across the table to him.

"Thank you," she said, though what for she had no idea.

He just nodded and placed the book in a pocket far too small to hold it.

"Your pockets-" she began, frowning, but stopped. "Never mind," she smiled.

"You've written about magic for years," he said, grinning. "My pockets shouldn't be extraordinary to one such as you." He began to make his way out of the bookshop. "Goodbye, for now. May we meet again someday," he called over his shoulder.

"Goodbye," she answered, capping her pen.

"Oh, and Doctor?" she said, as he was opening the door. He turned back to her, eyebrows raised slightly.

"Horcruxes or Hallows?" she asked with a smile.

He smiled back, and made his way through the door.

"Hope," he answered.


End file.
